


The Desperate Dilemma of the Disappearing Dog

by AJHall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, LoPiverse - Fandom, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, LoPiverse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 03:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJHall/pseuds/AJHall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John visit Malfoy Intrinsica, on one of their most important cases ever.</p><p>An Entertainment, in 4 221Bs</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desperate Dilemma of the Disappearing Dog

“Weird coincidence, you living here. I met Richard at a conference, Sherlock. Thought at the time he knew a lot about trauma for an ordinary village GP.”

“No ordinary village, Malfoy Intrinsica. But you’ll know that already, given your - client.”

Sherlock’s lip curled. “I’d have thought a man in your profession would understand client confidentiality.”

“A man in my profession understands the value of a whole skin. When Hermione told me she’d persuaded Draco to consult you about that damn lost dog of his I felt the Doomsday Clock had been put back an hour.”

“I can’t say much for her idea of a cover story. Pitching John in as a last minute recruit because the local am-dram lot have lost their leading man to ’flu? He can’t act, you know.”

“Good. We wouldn’t be wanting him blowing his cover in his first five minutes on stage, would we?”

“On that topic - who am I playing?”

“I hope to God it’s not Hamlet. Too blond, too decisive and your Laertes won’t stand a chance once he loses his rag.”

“No, not Shakespeare. How’s your Oirish, John? The West Wiltshire Players have just discovered O’Casey.”

“Well, thank goodness for small mercies. I had visions of you writing it up as The Baffling Business of the Butchered Bard on that blasted blog.”

 

\- - -

“The trick lay in disentangling what the perpetrator wanted us to see from what was actually there. Just like watching a stage conjuror.”

“Is it? For some reason, pretend magic never caught on round here.”

“Except, Mr Malfoy, when you’re trading on your family’s sinister reputation to get your own way. Unwise. What possible harm can there be in being only the shadow of a gunman?”

“Sherlock! I never thought you’d watched the play.”

“John, I was never going to miss your attempt at nothing like a Dublin accent.”

“It wasn’t, was it? I based it on you, doing Brooklyn.”

“It sounded even less like Brooklyn.”

“Exactly like yours, then.”

“Leaving aside John’s attempt to distract me, Mr Malfoy, it’s obvious someone set out to prove two can play at that game. Someone you’d recently humiliated, who possesses similar skills to your own, kidnapped Merope and set out to destroy your reputation. George Weasley was the only possible answer.”

“I shudder to think of the question.”

“So the green glow -”

“Was an attempt to pass off the kidnapped puppy as something eldritch and uncontrollable, so leading observers to assume it originated from the Manor.”

“You’re telling me that - thing - I saw coming back from the Village Hall was really -”

“Not a gigantic hound, John. Merely a bewitched, bothered and bewildered Basset.”

\- - -

 

Sherlock, seeing the tall blonde in the corner of the pub, said, “Interesting” in the tone he used for a really good serial killing. Richard, conversely, said, “Narcissa” in the tone normal people used for serial killers.

Narcissa smiled at them, but said to John, “Come and entertain me.”

He’d not expected childish word games. Nor deja vu; he’d been somewhere like this, long ago, a cavernous, dimly-lit space, cudgelling his brain to outwit some hostile creature which, if he let it, would have the flesh off his bones.

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with - B.”

He squirmed. Across the bar he could see Richard signalling something like You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

It did nothing for his competitive edge. She drew the nail of her forefinger lightly down from his hairline to his chin. That didn’t help, either.

“You need a clue? I cheated. It’s an adjective, not a noun. And it describes your eyes.”

“Er, blue?”

“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind.” She looked down at the table, as if surprised to see a beermat there, and flipped it into the air. Reflexively he raised a hand and caught it. A clenching sensation caught at his midriff. As it whirled him who-knew-where he heard Narcissa say, “Bedroom.”

 

\----

Merope’s pink tongue licked his nose. Sherlock cuddled her against his chest, defying Neville to comment.

“So you’re heading back to London?” Neville hazarded. “Without – ah - ?” He swept his hand towards the back stairs.

“I can’t imagine John’s likely to emerge for a few hours yet, do you? Heaven knows if he’ll be fit to drive when he does. There are some positions a man of almost forty with a bad shoulder shouldn’t attempt.”

“Look, I really am incredibly sorry –”

“That my flatmate’s pulled? He’ll be insufferable for weeks. It will make my life considerably easier.”

“Then you don’t – the two of you aren’t – ”

“What does John have to do to prove he’s straight? Vanish from the pub with the most beautiful woman in the county, who’s just assured him he’s got ‘bedroom eyes’? Nope; done that, doesn’t work.”

“Look, I’m as gay as they come and she’s my mother-in-law, but Narcissa beaming that much come hither from that range could make practically any man do something ill-advised.”

“Well, put your mind at rest. But I need to get back to London before my unspeakable brother does something else idiotic.”

“Happy to give you a lift. But – I do need to finish this, first.”

“Pass me a meat cleaver. I’ll take the head end.”

“Merope! Now! Off! Bugger!”


End file.
